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| Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep, The Ordination.

To think upon our Zion; For sense they little owe to frugal Heav'n- | And hing our nddles up to sleen. To please the mob they hide the little giv'n.| Like baby-clouts a-dryin'. (42)

Come, screw the pegs, wi' tunefu' cheap KILMARNOCK wabsters fidge and claw, And o'er the thairms be tryin'; And pour your creeshie nations;

Oh, rare! to see our elbucks wheep, And ye wha leather rax and draw,

And a' like lamb-tails flyin'
Of a' denominations, (43)

Fu' fast this day;
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane and a',
And there tak up your stations ;

Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn,
Then aff to Begbie's (44) in a raw,

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin',
And pour divine libations.

As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn,
For joy this day.

Has proven to its ruin :

Our patron, honest man ! Glencairn, Curst Common Sense, that imp o' hell,

He saw mischief was brewin';
Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder (45);

And like a godly elect bairn
But Oliphant aft made her yell,
And Russell sair misca'd her ;

He's wal'd us out a true ane,

And sound this day.
This day M- taks the flail,
And he's the boy will bland her!

Now, Robertson (49), harangue nae mair He'll clap a shangan on her fail,

But steek your gab for ever:
And set the bairns to daud her.

Or try the wicked town of Ayr,
Wi' dirt this day.

For there they'll think you clever;
Mak haste and turn king David owre,

Or, nae reflection on your lear, And lilt wi' holy clangor;

Ye may commence a shaver ;

Or to the Netherton (50) repair,
O' double verse come gie us four,
And skirl up the Bangor:

And turn a carpet-weaver
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure,

Atf-hand this day. Nae mair the kilaves shall wrang her,

Mutrie (51) and you were just a match, For Heresy is in her pow'r,

We never had sic twa drones : And gloriously she'll whang her

Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, Wi' pith this day. Come, let a proper text be read.

And aye he catched the tither wretch, And touch it aff wi' vigour,

To fry them in his caudrons : How graceless Ham (46) leugh at his dad,

| But now his honour maun detach, Which made Canaan a nigger;

Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, Or Phineas (47) drove the murdering blade,

Fast, fast this day. Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour;

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes Or Zipporah (48), the scauldin' jad,

She's swingein through the city; Was like a bluidy tiger

Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays! l'th' inn that day.

I vow it's unco pretty : There, try his mettle on the creed,

There, Learning, with his Greekish face, And bind him down wi' caution,

Grunts out some Latin ditty, That stipend is a carnal weed

And Common Sense is gaun, she says, He taks but for the fashion;

To mak to Jamie Beattie (52) And gie him o'er the flock, to feed,

Her plant this day. And punish each transgression;

But there's Morality himsel', Especial, rams that cross the breed,

Embracing all opinions ;
Gie them sufficient threshin',

Hear, how he gies the tither yell,
Spare them nae day.

Between his twa companions ;
Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail.

See, how she peels the skin and fell, And toss thy horns fu' canty;

As ane were peelin' onions! Nae mair thou’lt rowte out-owre the dale,

Now there--they're packed aff to hell, Because thy pasture's scanty;

And banish'd our dominions, For lapfu's large o' gospel kail

Henceforth this day. Shall fill thy crib in plenty,

Oh, happy day! rejoice, rejoice ! And runts o' grace the pick and wale,

Come bouse about the porter!
No gi'en by way o' dainty,

Morality's demure decoys
But ilka day.

Shall here nae mair find quarter:

M— -, Russell, are the boys,

This while my notion's ta'en a sklent, That Heresy can torture:

To try my fate in guid black prent; They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse,

But still the mair I'm that way bent, And cowe her measure shorter

Something cries “ Hoolie! By th' head some day. I red you, honest man, tak tent! Come, bring the tither mutchkin in,

Ye'll shaw your folly. And here's, for a conclusion,

There's ither poets much your betters, To every New Light (53) mother's son, Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, From this time forth, Confusion :

Hae thought they had ensur'd their If mair they deave us wi' their din,

debtors Or Patronage intrusion,

A’ future ages; We'll light a spunk, and every skin

Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, We'll rin them aff in fusion,

Their unknown pages.”
Like oil some day.

Then farewell hopes o' laurel-boughs,
To garland my poetic brows!

Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs
To James zmith. (54)

Are whistling thrang, « Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul! | And teach the lanely heights and howes Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society!

My rustic sang. I owe thee much!”-BLAIR.

I'll wander on, with tentless heed DEAR Smith, the slee'est, paukie thief,

How never-halting monients speed, That e'er attempted stealth or rief,

Till fate shall snap the brittle thread;
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef

Then, all unknown,
Owre human hearts;

I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead,
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief

Forgot and gone!
Against your arts.

But why o' death begin a tale ?
For me, I swear by sun and moon,

Just now we're living sound and hale, And ev'ry star that blinks aboon,

Then top and maintop crowd the sail, Ye've cost me twenty pair o'shoon

Heave care o'er side!
Just gaun to see you; And large before enjoyment's gale,
And ev'ry ither pair that's done,

Let's tak the tide.
Mair ta'en I'm wi' you.

This life, sae far's I understand,
That auld capricious carlin, Nature,

Is a' enchanted fairy land,
To mak amends for scrimpit stature, Where pleasure is the magic wand,
She's turn'd you aff, a human Creature

That, wielded right,
On her first plan;

Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, And in her freaks, on every feature

Dance by fu’ light.
She's wrote, the Man.

The magic wand then let us wield;
Just now I've ta'en the fit o' ryhme,

For, ance that five-and-forty's speeld, My barmie noddle's working prime,

See, crazy, weary, joyless eild,
My fancy yerkit up sublime

Wi' wrinki'd face,
Wi' hasty summon :

Comes hostin', hirplin' owre the field,
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time,

Wi' creepin' pace.
To hear what's comin'!
Some rhyme a neighbour's name to lash;

When ance life's day draws near the

· gloamin', Some rhyme (vain thought) for needfu’

Then fareweel vacant careless roamin'; cash;

And fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin', Some rhyme to court the country clash, And raise a din;

And social noise ;

And fareweel dear, deluding woman!
For me, an aim I never fash-
I rhyme for fun.

The joy of joys!
The star that rules my luckless lot, Oh life! how pleasant in thy morning,
Has fated me the russet coat,

Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning!
And damn'd my fortune to the groat; Cold-pausing caution's lesson scorning,
But in requit,

We frisk away, Has blest me wi' a random shot

Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, O' countra wit.

To joy and play.

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.

119 We wander there, we wander here, | I jouk beneath misfortune's blows We eye the rose upon the brier,

As weel's I may:
Unmindful that the thorn is near,

Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose,
Among the leaves !

I rhyme away.
And tho' the puny wound appear,

Oh ye douce folk, that live by rule,
Short while it grieves.

Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool,
Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot,

Compar'd wi' you-oh fool! fool! fool! For which they never toil'd or swat;

How much unlike; They drink the sweet and eat the fat, Your heart's are just a standing pool, But care or pain ;

Your lives a dyke!
And, haply, eye the barren hut

Nae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces,
With high disdain.

In your unletter'd nameless faces!
With steady aim some Fortune chase; In arioso trills and graces
Keen hope does ev'ry sinew brace;

Ye never stray,
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, But gravissimo, solemn basses
And seize the prey :

Ye hum away. Then cannie, in some cozie place,

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise;
They close the day.

Nae ferly tho’ye do despise
And others', like your humble servan', The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys,
Poor wights! nae rules nor roads observin';

The rattling squad :
To right or left, eternal swervin',

I see you upward cast your eyes
They zig-zag on;

-Ye ken the road. Till curst with age, obscure and starvin,' Whilst I_but I shall haud me there They aften groan.

Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where Alas! what bitter toil and straining

Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, But truce with peevish, poor complaining !

But quat my sang, Is fortune's fickle Luna waning?

| Content wi' you to mak a pair, : E'en let her gang!

Whare'er I gang. Beneath what light she has remaining,

Let's sing our sang. My pen I here fling to the door,

The Inlly Beggars.- 1 Cantata. (55) And kneel, “Ye Pow'rs,” and warm implore, “ Tho' I should wander terra o'er,

RECITATIVO.
In all her climes,

WHEN lyart leaves bestrew the yird, Grant me but this, I ask no more,

Or wavering like the bauckie-bird,
Aye rowth o'rhymes.

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;
Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds,

When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte Till icicles hing frae their beards;

And infant frosts begin to bite,
Gie' fine braw claes to fine life guards,

In hoary cranreuch drest;
And maids of honour !

Ae night at e'en a merry core
And yill and whisky gie to cairds,

O'randie, gangrel bodies,
Until they sconner.

In Poosie Nancy's held the splore,
A title, Dempster merits it;

To drink their orra duddies :

Wi' quatting and laughing,
A garter gie to Willie Pitt;
Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit,

They ranted and they sang;

Wi' jumping and thumping,
In cent. per cent.
But give me real, sterling wit,

The vera girdle rang.
And I'm content.

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags,

Ane sait weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, While ye are pleased to keep me hale,

And knapsack a' in order;
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal,

His doxy lay within his arm,
Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail,
Wi' cheerfu' face,

Wi' usquebae and blankets warm

She blinket on her sodger:
As lang's the muses dinna fai?

And aye he gies the tozie drab
To say the grace."

The tither skelpin' kiss,
An anxious e'e I never throws

While she held up her greedy gab Behint my lug or by my nose;

Just like an aumos dish. (56)

Ilk smack still, did crack still, | Some one of a troop of dragoons was my
Just like a cadger's whip,

daddie,
Then staggering and swazgering No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.
He roared this ditty up.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, AIR.

To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; TUNE-Soldiers' Joy.

His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so I am a son of Mars, who have been in many ruddy, wars,

Scome; | Transported I was with my sodger laddie. And show my cuts and scars wherever I

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. This here was for a wench, and that other in But the godly old chaplain left him in the a trench, (the drum. lurch,

church; When welcoming the French at the sound of

The sword I forsook for the sake of the Lal de daudle, &c.

He ventur'd the soul, and I risk'd the bodyMy 'prenticeship I past where my leader 'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. breath'd his last, [of Abram (57);

Sing, Lal, de lal, &c. When the bloody die was cast on the heights (Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, I served out my trade when the gallant game | The regiment at large for a husband I got; was play'd,

(sound of the drum. From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was And the Morro (58) low was laid at the ready,

Lal, de daudle, &c. I asked no more but a sodger laddie I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating

Sing, Lal, de lal, &c. batt'ries (59),

[limb; But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, And there I left for witness an arm and a Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair; Yet let niy country need me, with Elliot (60) His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, to head me,

[drum. | My heart it rejoic'd at a sodyer laddie. I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. Lal de daudle, &c.

l And now I have liv'd I know not how long And now tho’I must beg with a wooden arm And still I can join in a cup and a sony : and ley

[bum. But whilst with both hands I can hold the And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my glass steady, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. my callet,

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. Lal de daudle, &c.

RECITATIVO. What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk, winter shocks,

[a home,

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie; Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for

They mind't na wha the chorus teuk, When the tother bag I sell, and the tother

Between themselves they were sae busy: bottle tell,

[a drum.

At length wi' drink and courting dizzy, I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of

}ie stoiter'd up and made a face; Lal de daudle, &c.

'd, and laid a smack on Grizzie,

Syne tuned his pipes wi' grave grimace, RECITATIVO,

AIR. He ended; and the kebars sheuk,

TUNE—Auld Sir Symon. Aboon the chorus roar;

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, While frighted rattons backward leuk.

Sir Knave is a fool in a session : And seek the benmost bore;

IIe's there but a 'prentice I trow, A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,

But I am a fool by profession. He skirl d out“ Encore !'

My grannie she bought me a beuk, But up arose the martial chuck,

And I held awa to the school; And laid the loud uproar.

I fear I my talent misteuk,

But what will ye hae of a fool ?
AIR.
TUNE-Soldier Laddie.

For drink I would venture my neck,

A hizzie's the half o’iny craft, I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, But what could ye other expect, And still my delight is in proper young men; Of ane that's avowedly daft?

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.

121

| My curse upon them every one,
They’ye hang'd my braw John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &c.
And now a widow, I must mourn,
The pleasure's that will ne'er return;
No comfort but a hearty can,
When I think on John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &c.

I ance was tied up like a stirk;

For civilly swearing and quaffin'; I ance was abus'd in the kirk,

For touzling a lass i' my daffin. Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,

Let n'aebody name wi' a jeer; There's ev'n, I'm taught, i' the court

A tumbler ca'd the premier. Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad

Maks faces to tickle the mob; He rails at our mountebank squad

It's rivalship just i' the job. And now my conclusion I'll tell,

For faith I'm confoundedly dry; The chiel that's a fool for himsel',

Gude L-d! he's far dafter than I.

RECITATIVO. A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle. Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle, Her strappin' limb, and gaucy middle

(He reach'd na higher) Had hold his heartie like a riddle,

And blawn't on fire. Wi' hand on haunch, and upward e'e He croon'd his gamut, one, two, thrce, Theu in an arioso key,

The wee Apollo Set off wi' allegretto glee

His giga solo.

RECITATIVO.
Then neist outspak a raucle carlin,
Wha keut fu' weel to cleek the sterling,
For monie a pursie she had hooked,
And had in mony a well been ducked.
Her dove had been a Highland laddie,
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie!
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began
To wail her braw Jolin Highlandman.

AIR.
TUNE-O an ye were dead Guidman.
A Highland lad my love was born,
The Lawland laws he held in scorn
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My gallant braw John Highlandınan.

AIR. TUNE-Whistle oe'r the lave o't. Let me ryke up to dight that tear, And go wi’ me and be my dear, And then you every care and tear May whistle owre the lave o't.

CHORUS.
Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman!
Sing, ho, my braw Jolin Highlandman!
There's not a lad in a' the lan'

Was match for my John Highlandman.
With his philabeg and tartan plaid,
And guid claymore down by his side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &c. We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, And liv'd like lords and ladies gay; For a Lawland face he feared none, My gallant braw John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &c.
They banish'd him beyond the sea,
But ere the bud was on the tree,
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
Embracing my John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &c.
But, oh! they catch'd him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast:

CHORUS.
I am a fiddler to my trade,
And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd,
The sweetest still to wife or maid,

Was whistle owre the lave o't.
At kirns and weddings we'se be there,
And oh! sae nicely's we will fare;
We'll bouse about till Daddie Care
Sings whistle owre the lave o't.

I am, &c. Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, And sun oursells about the dyke, And at our leisure, when ye like, We'll whistle ow're the lave o't.

I am, &c. But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, And while I kittle hair on thairnis, Hunger, cauld, and a sic harms.

May whistle ow're the lave o't.

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RECITATIVO. Her charms had struck a sturdy caird.

As weel as poor gut-scraper; He taks the fiddler by the beard,

And draws a roosty rapier

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